


Too Many Cooks

by NeoVenus22



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-26
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue has always enjoyed baking, but she never thought an afternoon in the kitchen could be so productive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Cooks

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Takes place during season 2.

Rogue was buried in the refrigerator, trying to find the head of lettuce she knew was hiding in the crisper, when she heard someone entering the kitchen. She bristled slightly; she'd been in there for hours by herself with no interruptions, and it would figure that someone would come in just as her cobbler was almost finished.

"Oh, man, something smells amazing," the invader said excitedly, and Rogue retracted her proverbial claws, recognizing the voice.

"Thanks," she said, emerging from the fridge triumphant.

Scott blurted with evident surprise, "Rogue!"

Once out of the stale chill of the fridge, she noted that the kitchen did smell amazing, thick and warm with a sweet, doughy scent. It calmed her as much as Scott's presence, who had become one of her few trusted friends.

"Hi, Scott," she said casually. "Ah'm bakin'."

"I can see that," he said, smiling in an effort to cover his faux pas. Rogue, however, saw right through him. She grinned mercilessly. "You didn't think Ah could, didja?"

Scott colored slightly. "Am I that transparent?"

"Like glass, Summers," she teased.

"All right, you got me. I didn't really peg you as the baking type. So what are you making?"

"Peach cobbler. It's an old family recipe," she said, her voice and her gaze dropping.

"Delicious," Scott said, changing the subject quickly. "And the veggies?" Next to the lettuce on the counter was a handful of carrots and a few ripe peppers. Not exactly the fixings for a baked dessert.

"That. Well, when the Professor saw me bakin', he asked if Ah'd chip in, make a salad for dinner."

"Oh. Do you want some help?"

She shook her head, smiling a little. "That's okay. Although Ah wouldn't mind the company."

As Scott sat down at the table, Rogue stripped off her gloves, and lay them neatly on the counter beside her. She washed her hands, then picked up her lettuce and began to rip off the leaves.

"How's school going?" asked Scott.

"All right."

"I feel like I never see you anymore."

"That's 'cause we're in different grades, Scott," said Rogue.

"Yeah, but I never see you at lunch or anything, either. Usually the bunch of us sit together."

Rogue didn't dignify the statement with a response. 'The bunch of us' usually included Jean, and it wasn't exactly secret that there was no love lost between Jean and Rogue. It was enough that they lived together and worked together, and Rogue wasn't about to make any nicer than she already did. "Ah sit with Risty," she said finally. She rooted around in one of the top cupboards for the salad bowl, but didn't see it in the usual slot.

Scott must have guessed what she was looking for, because he said, "Kitty rearranged last week." He squatted down by her hip at a lower cabinet. "It's down here now."

Rogue accepted the bowl without comment, a little embarrassed by his proximity, and further shamed by the fact she was even embarrassed in the first place. Scott sensed her discomfort as easily as he'd sensed what she was looking for, and retreated to the relative safety of his chair.

"Ya know," said Rogue, eager to erase the awkwardness, "you're welcome t'sit with us any time ya like. Though Ah can't imagine ya'd want to."

"Why wouldn't I?" countered Scott, straightening.

"Ah dunno," said Rogue, raising her voice to be heard over the rush of the water as she rinsed the lettuce leaves. "Ah always got the impression that none a' y'all liked Risty much."

If there was truth to this or not, Scott's face betrayed nothing. Not that reading his face was ever particularly easy with the glasses on, but Rogue had spent enough time around him to judge the various tics of his face. When he was irritated, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. When he was happy, there was nothing more inviting than his open grin. But now, he remained impassive to her accusation.

"I like her well enough," said Scott. "But, c'mon, Rogue, what do you expect me to say? I don't actually know her all that well. It's not like you ever bring her around for us to meet."

"Ah thought the whole point was that Ah wasn't s'posed to bring her around," said Rogue stiffly, concentrating on the green pepper she was slicing into long strips.

"Well, maybe not to the mansion. But you can bring her to lunch. I'd like to get to know your friends. I'd like to get to know more about you," he continued. "I feel like I'm seeing an entirely different Rogue right now."

"Is that bad?" asked Rogue, feeling a knot building between her tense shoulders.

"No! I mean, it's cool. I'm seeing a Rogue that's at home in the kitchen. Color me pleasantly surprised."

There was something about his tone, soft and genuine, that made Rogue turn and give him a smile. He returned it easily, and those few seconds were enough to distract Rogue entirely. Her grin quickly became a wince as the blade of the knife found its way into the skin of her hand. "Ow!"

Scott was on his feet in seconds. "What happened, what's wrong?" he demanded.

Rogue held up her bleeding hand with a grimace. "Guess Ah'm not as at home in th' kitchen as ya thought," she said.

"Geez," he said, his cheeks twisting a little as he looked at her hand. "Let's get that cleaned." He turned on the cold water tap and guided her over to the sink. While Rogue washed her cut, he pulled a first aid kit out of the drawer.

"Didn't know we had one a' those in here," said Rogue.

Scott smirked. "This place is home to the X-Men. What room doesn't have a first aid kit?" He peered over Rogue's shoulder at the injury. "You lucked out, that's not too bad."

"Maybe not for you," she answered sourly. "For me, it hurts like anythin'."

"Well, let's get some antiseptic on it," he said, pulling out a bottle. He moved to daub the contents on her wound, but Rogue jerked her hand away at the last second.

"Scott, no," she said.

Scott stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. She could see the tiny lines in his face smoothing out when he figured out her apprehension, and he reached for her hand anyway. Carefully, he cleaned out the cut, and spread a Band-Aid across it. His fingertips brushed gently against the back of her hand periodically, but he seemed unaffected by the tiny twinges of Rogue's power. She didn't know whether she should attribute it to her efforts at restraining her absorption, or if he was just plowing ahead anyway. Rogue got no answer; instead, Scott merely cleaned up his supplies and put the kit back in the drawer, looking satisfied.

Rogue, on the other hand, had been transported elsewhere. Normally when she achieved skin-to-skin contact with someone, she was hit with flashes of memory. But this time, the memories were all her own. She stared at the clean brown bandage on her hand, and said in a far-off voice, "Y'know, when Ah was little, and Ah hurt myself, Irene would put the Band-Aid on me, an' kiss my boo-boo. And Ah'd feel all better, ya know? Like she just magically kissed the pain away. It's funny, the things ya take for granted when you're a little kid, and ya miss like hell later."

To her surprise, when she turned to face Scott again, he was already stooping. Before she could process, before she could work together the train of thought she needed to warn and dissuade him, he was scooping her hand into his, squeezing tightly, and pressing his lips to the back of her injury. Rogue gawked at him.

"Listen," said Scott, brushing her hair behind her ear. He was speaking impossibly softly, and she wished fervently to see his eyes, to read his expression, to judge if any of this was actually real. "I don't want you to get hurt again," he said. "So I'll see you at dinner."

Rogue nodded wobbly, unsure what to say.

"Hey," he said, face split in a grin, "make sure you save me the biggest piece of cobbler, okay?"

Rogue felt like a fool gazing after him, but she watched long after he was out of sight. It took effort to shake off her haze, and she reached again for the knife. Earlier, she'd thought it was damned, but now she couldn't help wondering if maybe it was blessed. One thing was for certain, she could no longer feel any pain.


End file.
